Eventually found some old icy snow on the shady north slope of the trail.

The first ridge line was too early to celebrate, still had a thousand more feet upward and 2 more miles to go.

A sculpture garden of madrone trees.

Stacks of serpentine stone rubble and some steel are the only thing left of the old fire lookout.

So clear and blue up there, it seemed we could almost touch heaven.

14 Mile loop starting at Four Mile Lake heading up along Woodpecker Lake, Badger Lake, Long Lake. Saw some nice trout jumping along the way, but had decided at the car, to leave the fly rod behind to lighten the load. Even with fish leaping in Badger Lake, I wasn’t sorry about the rod, it was too early in the hike and I hadn’t done a 14 mile day in a very long time. In the end it was a good decision to stay focused on the hiking and a bit of trail side huckleberry eating.

It was great to get out. Impressed myself with the distance. The scenery was good, not the greatest I’ve experienced but good. Nearly 8 lake/ponds in total, lovely vibrant carpets of huckleberries under the fir trees and just enough vista’s to make the ache in the knees worth it. And the relatively flat (680 feet elevation gain) was perfect.

Badger Lake, nice fish.

Long Lake was impressively big and had some of the biggest dragonflies I’ve ever seen. Nice camping spots around the lake.

Wild gooseberry or currant? Lots of this on the trail.

John and Al making good time on the PCT section. They’re in training for the Rogue River Trail in 2 weeks.

Along the PCT

The view around mile 10 or so. Looking NE at Four Mile Lake from the PCT. About 1 more mile to the junction with the trail that heads back down.

Huckleberries! They were all along the trail and this is the area at junction of the PCT and Twin Ponds Trail.

YUM!

Squaw Lake with Thunderheads. We had thunder rolling every now and then while on the PCT. The cloud coverage was great and the few sprinkles were a welcome cool down. It’s been a year since I smelled rainfall on the eastside of the Cascades and it did my soul good. Squaw Lake also just a lovely place would be a great campsite and probably good to fish, although didn’t see any fish at 4pm, which is not a particularly fishy time of day anyway.

Three/Four ponds and lakes on the way back down. Squaw lake was the upper most and the others small but beautiful. Off the trail at 5pm. Dunked our heads under the pump at the campground and felt wonderfully refreshed to get the salt and trail dust off our faces.

However, my new lightweight hiking boots are horrible. Feet were killing me at 4 miles. They apparently breathe too well and when I got my socks off, my feet were black with dirt and patterned along all the breathable side panels. I don’t think I needed the added friction of a 1/8 cup of mazama ash inside each shoe. Next time will hike in my trusted old heavy duty boots.

SPOIL from EP Films on Vimeo.

This film follows the International League of Conservation Photographers as they team up with the Gitga’at Nation of British Columbia to document the Great Bear Rainforest before an oil pipeline changes it forever.

The summer heat has finally hit the Rogue Valley and I’m getting tired of it, so the obvious solution was to escape the heat by hitting the high county. I thought the vista would give me perspective, but the riot of wildflowers made me love it. Lucky for me late snowy spring, and the late arrival of summer meant that June’s wildflowers have just happened on the mountain.

The granite outcroppings seem nearly sentient. Each of the granite boulders seems to be an individual, ancient, a guardian, a personality in their own right. (Funny how basalt and other lava flows from Central Oregon never struck me as individuals but as reminders of the earth’s force. Those rocks did not have a soul, or eyes to watch me like these granite boulders seem to each have a harumphing nature like grandfathers.)

Mt. Shasta is in the hazy distance here. She’s in the hazy distance of many of the photos, but the midday light and haze in the air didn’t work so well for the distance shots.

More of the grandfatherly granite near the summit. I liked how it emerged from the waist deep shrubs

Far below is Medford. Roxy Ann Butte, that towers over Medford, looks like an inconsequential nub from up here, which is exactly how a trip to the high country should put my everyday life into perspective, literally.

This is one of the most famous fly fishing spots in Oregon, but everyone says it’s nothing like it used to be. That may be the case, it’s not so easy to put fish on the table for dinner anymore, but fishing, I mean FISHING is a different thing than just a cooler full of meat. Fishing is a day spent reading the water, watching the light.

It was a great trip. Like the Metolius, one of the prettiest places in the world to catch zero fish, but that wasn’t the case this time, by just a smidge of little fish.

Some photos of Fishin Monkey playing with his new Spey rod on the water.

I drove as far as road would take me, slathered on sunscreen, applied a full coating of DEET, put on the pack, and headed cross country for the sound of running water.

Despite there being a road and a parking area, there was no trail at all. The creek is lush, gorgeous, deceptively clear and full of logs. Stepping off the cutbanks proved to be misguided and the bone cracking cold water is much deeper than it looks. There was absolutely no casting advantage to standing in the freezing cold water. The logs in every direction and the overhanging plants snagged me every time I tried. After a little while of dapping a fly on the water, I decided to enjoy the scenery for a bit and change location and head downstream to where the stream would be bigger.

Finished my 1/4 mile trailess treck without a broken bone or sprained ankle and I got back in the car, doubled back down the dirt road for a few miles, onto the pavement. The creek wasn’t visible from the road, it was just over there, somewhere on the left. I drove until the view through the trees was becoming more open and a true meadow, not just a forest with a meadow understory, now it was a meadow with just a few scattered trees. The wide spot in the road, the parking spot, had no apparent trail to the water and that was a surprise. Again, no trail at all, just waist deep grass hiding logs, tiny springs and ankle breaking rushets flowing south toward the still hidden creek. 50 yards of wading through grass and I could hear the water, and it was good, it was very good.

Perfect water for stalking some brook trout, so I sat down, and rigged up.

Decided a to tie on a grasshopper with a small red copper john dropper. First cast and

Such a sigh of relief. Thank heaven. This is the first fish caught in a month. The first fish caught on this trip, the first fish I’ve ever caught on this 3wt bamboo. Now that the first fish is out of the way, it doesn’t matter, the day can happen however it happens. I tried to stay out of the water as much as possible, it was just so very clear and the fish would see me if I was coming at them from upstream. So I carefully made my way along the banks and pulled several more fish out of each little riffle and seam. I didn’t mess with too many photos of them. i’m just not coordinated enough to lean off a cutbank, manage a fish, and get the camera all lined up. This one was beautiful, even though the wonky picture only grabbed part of the fish. Ah well.

Walked carefully, crossed the creek back and forth about 6 times. It grew and grew every 10 yards or so another feeder spring was adding more water. After 3 hours of fishing, the humidity was really picking up steam, ha ha. The view of the sky was somewhat limited and I knew that somewhere out there, the thunderstorms were brewing. it seemed like a good spot for a break.

The wicked cold water was washing the DEET away and I didn’t really feel like the sunscreen was working. In fact the feverish temp of my arms and legs had me thinking that either DEET is a great solvent for sunscreen, or something else was defective in my chemical armor. Stepping back into the sunshine and I swear I felt the UV rays go wah wahh wahhh and my skin was burning. I had no idea how far I had traveled or how far the road might be. I guessed it would be few miles back.

At the edge of the meadow, I was not greeted by road, but by more treachery of twigs. More people are hurt and lost in the woods due to twisted ankles or broken legs than from axe murderers or bears. When no one knows where I’m at, a hillside like this could be a killer (saying that outloud in my best Bear Grylls voice). I don’t know if it might become more technical , if the road is near or far, and that brings on the acute ninja awareness, well, as its as ninja as a 40 year old white woman can muster. “Super ninja, no boo boos”, I chant to myself as I work my way uphill.

“Super Ninja, no boo boos. Super Ninja, no boo boos. Super….. it worked. A hundred yards of logs and brush and we find the road.

3.5 hours, ninja reflexes, no boo boos, super sunburn, a little lighter on blood supply, many fish to hand, and I must be miles from the car. Look up at the sky and see the thunderheads brewing, and look down and that bend in the road. It looks familiar, the glint of a windshield in the shade. The car, a/c, and aloe are 150 yards ahead. Ahhhh, the fishing time/space/distance warp. It’s happened again.

On the fifth day of the adventure, summer arrived. Gave Dave R a call for advice on floating the Rogue and he talked Roger through the Shady Cove to Tekelma float on the phone. Then he met us at the ramp and gave told a joke to make me blush, gave me a kiss on the cheek and we gave him a toast of brandy for the fishing gods, and away we went.

AND WE CAUGHT FISH!!!

I can’t believe I actually remembered the spots Dave had taken me last fall, and we just stumbled through fishing salmon fly dry with copper john dropper and stumbled into fish. And it twas good. So good that after meeting Dave for a drink, we asked him about a longer float, got the skinny, and ….

We did it again the next day- Shady Cove to Dodge Bridge. More fish, lots of time in the sun, and I’m starting to get the hang of fishing again, after much too long away. Got to the take out and Dave was sitting there waiting, and reported that I’d been seen hooking up on the river. How crazy is that? Urban fishing and before we even get to the take out, the report is out..

They didn’t know about the double though. It’s been years since I had a double hookup. Quite refreshing.

After such a gorgeous day in the Klamath canyon, the next day was not looking so good. Squalls coming over the mountains looked suspiciously wicked. Since we had worked our way around the Klamath Basin and all the fishable water was muddy, we decided we may as well head for home and be dry and warm. We went the long way to see some more rivers on the way.

So we headed up HWY 62 thinking we might cut through Crater Lake Park. But that squall came down right on us and started putting some snow down. We got to the park entrance and the guy at the gate told us the north exit was closed due to snow, so we abandoned the park plan and headed on down toward the Rogue. Hit the Rogue, hang a right, head upriver, over the pass, hang a left at Diamond Lake, and…..

wait a second, I’m not gonna be specific about this next little gem.

Up and down, back and forth, everywhere we found her, she was just that pretty. It kept pouring rain though and I was feeling delicate, and like not fishing in the drops of water, so we just looked at it, and I made a big ol mental note of it, and we headed back for pavement and down the road.

Rounded out the trip with checking every ramp on the North Fork Umpqua all the way to where the north and south fork meet up. Some absolutely spectacular country that was being subjected to Junuary rain storm. All worth another look, another day. Didn’t take as many photos as I should have. Some things reeally stand out in my mind, but I have nothing to post except this one at Colliding Rivers at Glide.

On day 2 of the escape to Klamath basin, we decided to get Roger’s new RO driftboat baptized in some Oregon water. We headed for Chiloquin and dropped the boat over the bank into the Williamson River. The launch is just below where the Sprague river meets the Williamson at the town of Chiloquin. The clear spring creek water of the Williamson looked good above town, but the Sprague was pumping sludgey run off so it was the same story as all the other rivers we had seen in the last 3 days.

We hit up the locals at the ramp for all the info possible. The plan was to row up to the confluence with the Sprague (there is a falls above this, so no rowing farther up) and then drift it back downriver to the Water Wheel campground at the HWY 97 bridge. Some folks say when the Sprague is behaving itself, all they do is row up and drift back to the launch, which is just a couple hundred yards. That sounded silly to me, until I stood there for 20 minutes while waiting for Roger to drive the truck to the take out and hitch a ride back.

I stood there waiting with the boat and studied the line of clear water and muddy water down the middle of the river. The two rivers of water were very separate until the riffle at the ramp. Below the riffle, it all mixed and everything was brown. The distinct seam where they met in the mid river, the seam had a nice foam line and occasional salmon flies in it, and a gentle breeze was blowing, and SMACK! Freaking huge fish lept 2 ft out of the river.

My jaw dropped and I quit day dreaming and rigged up my rod with salmon fly pattern. Started hucking out line for the first time in 6months and was happy to see several more slabs of fish fly through the air. Nothing in the vicinity of my fly though. Things got a bit more busy then with a family showing up and the Dad tossing a treble hook spinner out there. I kept after it with my salmon fly.

Roger got back and we pushed off and he was pulling on the oars heading us upstream and the Dad hooked up with a fish. He landed a beauty about 18 inches and fat. He was talking to us about putting it back and then asked is we had pliers to get the treble hook out of the fish’s throat. Ouch. The fish was goner. I appreciate that he wanted to put it back. Roger told him how he should get rid of two of his hooks and smash the barb so that in the future he can release a fish if he doesn’t want it. The fish was dead by the time he got the hook out and the guy did right and took it to eat (it’s legal on the Williamson). I think he really listed to what Roger said, at least I hope he did. As Roger says, those fish are his business partners, put em back.

Anyway, we had a lovely baptismal float in the RO driftboat, but couldn’t touch a fish. Salmon flies popped and so did some caddis, and finally an ant hatch of flying carpenter ants (weird, never have seen these in the spring). Nothing we tried worked on the splashy fish that kept us drooling the whole time. It was a great float.

Next day, we decided to see about the tail water on the Klamath River. Drove south and the entire landscape changed in a few short miles. A tailwater is usually in a canyon, and so I’m used to roads dropping into canyons, sort of, but this road was something else. I think we should have had a bungy cord hooked to the bumper. Miles of drop off on one side and big wall of hydro canal on uphill side, no where to turn around and a horrendous road. The scenery was something spectacular though.

Finally found a sign for a launch. The switch back to the launch road is too tight to take though, so we had to head another couple hundred yards to turn around and come back at it. Yikes. My fear of heights was killing me with adrenaline. I was so glad to pull up to the river and get out at the bottom of it all.

No fish rising, some nice golden stoneflies in the air, so it was time to calm down, have a 3pm lunch and sip of the good stuff, and do some casting.

Spent a nice hour or so casting different rods and not a fish to be seen. We headed out by 5 knowing it would take more than an hour to get back to pavement, if we didn’t plummet off the edge or have a flat. Luckily neither happened. Made it back to basecamp around 8pm. Another fishless day, but a day of hardcore adventure feeling like we fell off the edge of the beaten track. That’s a good thing.

Well, pull your head out.

I pulled my head out in early June and was ready for my week of fishing. All forces conspired and spring runoff hit the rivers on the west side of Oregon. On friday June 4, I drove to Salem and back on river rights issues and noticed the Rogue was chocolatey, then the South Umpqua a frothy mousse, and the North Umpqua was like mud, and the coast fork of the Willamette River was looking like a real river not a creek, then the Willamette was raging and so was the Mckenzie. The Santiam was just plain ol swollen. I was supposed to be fishing the next day, so that was not good, not good at all.

So when Roger arrived from Montana on Saturday, to fish the not- running off rivers of Oregon, we had a problem. What to do with time off and no water to fish? So we headed east hoping the ongoing drought in in the Klamath basin would yield decent water. That’s really a crap attitude, hoping a drought area is going to fish well?! What they really needed was a bunch of snowpack. But, trying to make lemonade out of lemons is not always easy, so we headed east.

On day one we crossed the Cascades on Lake of Woods hwy and dropped down onto the Klamath Basin (another part of the fabled state of Jefferson). We intended to fish the Williamson the next day, but on this day, we merely were going to follow up on some interesting looking things on the map. So we found a short, and very winding blue line on the map and starting looking for places to give it a look. Best to start at the top, the source, the headwaters, the spring, the font.

And the spring spreads out into a breathtaking pool of pure aqua. I blinked, and it was still that color.

I followed the path around the edge to see the color from all angles, and everything grew quiet inside me and if nothing else happend in this trip, this was enough. The startling color, the snow capped mountains, and I stole a few seconds away from eternity and stayed with it.

This became basecamp for the next 3 days. It’s a good place to come back to, a good place to be stopped and still for a moment.